Unbreak My Heart

by Lauren Blakely

  “I beat you with savvy—double Vs and a double-word score, and it was awesome.”

  “It was especially awesome because you wore this low-cut blue shirt, and I kept trying to sneak a peek.”

  “Pervert.”

  “I know, but in my defense, you’re crazy-hot, and it was hard not to look at you. It was even harder not to tell you how I felt about you.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I don’t know why. But I don’t want it to take years again.” I take a breath and place my hand on her thigh. She looks down at my fingers then up into my eyes. “What I realized today is that as long as our hearts are beating, we have choices, and there’s one I want to make.”

  “What is it?” she asks tentatively.

  “I told you about the letters I wrote today. To all the people I care about?”

  She nods.

  “You’re one of those people.”

  Her lips curve up in a smile. “A letter for me?”

  I’m not nervous.

  Maybe I should be.

  But I’ve been to hell and back, and whatever happens next—whether it’s her yes, or her no, or her maybe—I can handle it.

  She’s the strong one.

  But so am I.

  That’s who I’ve become, thanks to coming here and meeting all these people, thanks to seeking and to finding.

  I take the last letter out of my pocket, unfold it, and hand it to her.

  Excitement races through me as she slides her thumb under the flap, opening the envelope. She unfolds the page. Her eyes widen, and she looks down at the note, then me, then the note, then me.

  “Are you serious?”

  I nod. “I am.”

  32

  Holland

  This is a dream.

  I’m going to wake any second. It’s a fantasy come true. If he means what I think he means, I’m going to squeal so loud they’ll hear me in Kyoto.

  But just in case I have it wrong, I take a breath, center myself, and do my best to calm down. I hold the paper in shaky fingers. “What do you mean exactly?”

  He shoots me a teasing look. “Was it confusing?”

  “I want to be crystal clear. Just spell it out for me, please. I want this so badly, but I don’t want to get my hopes up for nothing.”

  He takes my hand and threads his fingers through mine, holding tight. “I want to be with you. You said we would talk about it and figure things out, but the way I see it is simple—you live here, you have a job here, you have family three hours away. I happen to have more money than most guys my age, on account of inheritances. That’s the luck of the draw, and the way I see it, I can either sit on all of that money for a later date, which sounds ridiculously stupid, or I can use some of it to have the life I most want right now—this second. Plus, I do own an apartment here outright, and it’s big enough for two. I want to stay, and I want you to move in with me. That’s why I wrote this letter.”

  Dear Holland,

  Would you like to be my roommate? I have this place in Shibuya . . .

  Love,

  Andrew

  The waterworks start. Tears break free, and I can’t believe he’s saying this. I can’t believe he’d move here to be with me.

  He presses his forehead to mine as he ropes his arms around me. “This is how I can move the ocean.”

  I can barely speak. I’m overcome with so many emotions, so much joy.

  The man I love isn’t leaving. He’s choosing to stay. He’s choosing us. He’s choosing me.

  His lips find mine, and he kisses me. He kisses me like he loves me, like he’s in love with me, and like he’s staying.

  In his kiss, I taste hope and a future.

  We pull apart for a second and look at each other, sharing crazy grins. I move in for another kiss, clasping his cheeks as if I’m claiming him. I kiss him hard and deep and with an intensity that is out of this world, or maybe it is clearly of this world.

  “Is that a yes?” he asks.

  “Yes, you can move here. Yes, I want to live with you. Yes, I want to have a life with you every day. But what about your dog and your law firm?”

  He holds up a finger and clears his throat. “I have a plan for both.”

  33

  The freeway was clogged, but Kate knew all the back roads to her gym, and she navigated them seamlessly, taking the least-congested route there in less than fifteen minutes. She knew all the ways around a problem. That was what she did in her job in the import-export business—find the quickest way from A to B.

  She pulled up to Animal House, planning to attack the boxing bag today before she tackled how to deliver a shipment of rugs to Seoul.

  She headed into the gym, nodding to Jimmy at the front desk, then sliding him a check. Animal House was old school—no credit cards for memberships.

  Jimmy shook his head. “Your money is no good here.”

  She gave him a look. She was good at giving looks. “I’m good for it.”

  Jimmy smiled. “Your membership is paid for the rest of your life. I just got the check from your cousin Andrew.”

  Kate froze for an unexpected second. Then she clasped her hand over her mouth, pursing her lips.

  That boy, he was going to be all right.

  * * *

  “That’s a half pepperoni and half cheese pie. You want Caesar salad too?”

  The woman on the end of the line said, “Caesar salad sounds delicious.”

  Omar smiled. “Here at Three Martians, our Caesar salad is the best in town. It comes with my personal guarantee.”

  He finished the order and hung up, then barked out the instructions to his guys as the bell above the front door rang.

  A deliveryman pushed inside, holding a box. “I have a delivery for Omar at Three Martians.”

  “That’s me. Have you got my tomato sauce order in there?”

  The deliveryman shrugged. “Doesn’t feel that heavy.”

  Omar took the box, grabbed a knife, and cut a line through the packing tape. When he opened the flap and peered inside, a wide smile spread across his face.

  He went to the sink, washed his hands, and returned to the treasure—hundreds upon hundreds of baseball cards. He knew what he was going to be doing that weekend. Sorting through these beauties and enjoying the hell out of them.

  * * *

  Trina took the last sip of her coffee and reviewed the day ahead of her at the hospital before she left her apartment and headed to her beat-up old Honda.

  But the Honda wasn’t the only car in her driveway. Next to it was a gleaming red beauty—a sports car she recognized. A huge white bow was tied over the hood, like in TV shows, in the movies.

  She’d received Andrew’s letter earlier in the week, and it had meant so much to her. This was his handiwork too. When she found a note under the bow, she shrieked.

  “Holy crap! I finally have a car that works.” She lifted her face to the sky. “I miss you, Ian. And you need to know your brother is awesome.”

  * * *

  That night, stars twinkled somewhere above the haze of the Los Angeles skyline as Jeremy tickled the ivories.

  He’d always been partial to Frank Sinatra, and it turned out Callie liked Ol’ Blue Eyes too. He banged out “Fly Me to The Moon” on his newly acquired piano, the one delivered earlier that day. Callie sat next to him, draped an arm around him, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You’re hot when you play the piano.”

  He wiggled his eyebrows. He hadn’t needed the piano to win the woman. But he liked playing for her, and more so, he liked the thought behind this piano, and what his friend had done for him.

  Andrew didn’t need to give him this, but Jeremy sure was glad to have it, and he planned to make full use of it.

  34

  Andrew

  They don’t call my cousin the fixer for nothing.

  Taking care of the car insurance is nothing compared to the rabbit she pulls out of a hat in one week.

&nb
sp; In mid-July, my dog arrives by private jet, well-rested and ready to fetch tennis balls. At the airport, I say thank you to Kate’s rug-dealing client for letting my dog hitch a ride over the Pacific in such style.

  While arranging a shipment of antique rugs to Seoul, she finagled a detour here for my girl. A little extra money made it all possible, and it was money I happily spent.

  Kate, ever the wizard, even made some calls so Sandy wouldn’t have to be quarantined. That was money well spent too.

  I’m confident Ian would approve of how I spent the funds. But it’s not his money I spent. I have my own, and I don’t miss a dollar of what made this reunion possible.

  “C’mere, girl.”

  At the bottom of the steps, Sandy tugs hard on the leash. The flight attendant keeps a grip on her, practically sprinting with Sandy the final ten feet to me. My dog slobbers me with dog kisses and happy whines, knocking me on my ass on the tarmac.

  I bury my face in her fur. “I missed you too, girl.”

  She wags her tail at one hundred miles per hour and licks me more. Pretty sure she’ll lick my face the whole night if I let her.

  That evening, Holland and I take her for her first walk in Tokyo, through Yoyogi Park, and all the sights and sounds make her a little bit nutty. She’ll get used to them.

  “When do you start class?” Holland asks.

  “Friday morning.”

  “Don’t think you’re going to get out of grocery shopping by claiming you have to study all the time,” she says, playfully.

  “I will gladly go grocery shopping with you,” I say, tightening my hold on the leash.

  “Grocery shopping,” she remarks, as if it’s the strangest thing.

  But it is—it’s the strangest thing that’s now such a normal thing. We can do the normal things together.

  We can wake up together, and cook together, and pay bills together.

  Most of all, we can be together.

  During the day, she’s at the medical center. Soon, I’ll be taking language classes so I can improve my Japanese for daily living. I’m still studying for the Bar too.

  I have every intention of practicing law. I simply plan to do it here. My brother’s firm—my firm—practices corporate law, and Don Jansen will continue to ably manage the main offices back in California. But we’ve decided to open up a branch in Japan. I won’t practice Japanese law. I have no knowledge of the Japanese legal system, nor any expectations that I could get up to speed. But I can work for American companies within Japan and American companies in the States who need an expert while abroad.

  It’s a niche, but it’s a niche that’ll work fine for me to meet my bills.

  I have my woman, and I have my girl.

  I want to bookmark this moment, capture it for the rest of my days. I know there are no guarantees, not in life and not in love. But I’ll take what I can get, I’ll take what I can give. Another chance.

  * * *

  Kana: The rest of my band is back in town. Want to stop by the Pink Zebra and see us play? We can grab a tea after.

  That sounds like a fantastic way to spend an evening.

  I write back with a yes.

  Then, as the city does everything but sleep, I strip Holland to nothing, and I kiss her all over. I make her moan, make her writhe, take her to the edge of pleasure. Her hands are everywhere on me—my back, my shoulders, my head.

  She tugs my hair harder than she ever has, and I love it. I just fucking love it. When she comes again, I roll to my back and pull her on top of me.

  I thread a hand into her hair, bringing her face close to mine. “I want to watch you as you ride me,” I whisper.

  She shivers, lowering herself onto me. She sighs so greedily, so beautifully. I moan loudly.

  She’s on birth control now, and it’s out of this world to feel all of her against all of me.

  She rocks on me, moving up and down, swiveling her hips, taking me deep. She looks like a goddess, all that blonde hair spilling down her back, her skin glowing in the moonlight.

  I bring my hand between her legs, intensifying her pleasure. She trembles and groans. Soon, I’m treated to my favorite sight: Holland, falling apart, coming undone, saying my name.

  The world becomes a blur of electricity and heat as I join her.

  She falls asleep in my arms, naked and sated, her warm body wedged against mine all night long. Soft fur presses to my feet, and my dog lets out a snore in the middle of the night.

  Yes, this is everyday living. This is everyday loving.

  * * *

  We get ready together.

  We say goodbye to Sandy together, giving her a peanut-butter-filled Kong that’ll keep her happy for the evening.

  We hold hands in the elevator.

  We talk on the train to Roppongi.

  We find the Pink Zebra at the bottom of a hill, at the far end of a slim alley, down a set of steps, underground. There is no flashing sign to guide us, only a faded dark-pink one with the name in curvy letters.

  Hand in hand, Holland and I walk inside, and the show begins.

  I clap and cheer when Kana comes onstage and blows into the sax, her cheeks like a chipmunk’s, as if she’s Dizzy Gillespie on his trumpet.

  She plays with her eyes wide open, with her body moving like she’s giving life to the instrument. Or maybe its notes are what give her so much life, so much zeal.

  She notices us at the end of her solo, and her eyes light up like sparklers set off on the Fourth of July.

  When the set ends, and she steals away from the band, she asks if we can head someplace quieter.

  “Sure. Are you okay?”

  She nods and smiles. “Yes. In your letter, which I loved, you mentioned a magnet. Silverspinner Lanes.”

  “Right. I figured Ian kept it because of our last game played there.”

  She shakes her head. “That’s not why he kept it.”

  “It’s not?”

  When we find a quiet café still open, and Kana sits down, the vulnerable look in her eyes and the way she places her hand on her belly tell me exactly why Silverspinner Lanes isn’t about me.

  “There’s something I’m finally ready to tell you.”

  35

  Andrew

  My hands tremble. My head echoes with her last words. The café becomes a strange, surreal place, and as the waiter walks to us, it feels as if he’s moving in slow motion. He’s coming to take our order, and I’m not sure how people can eat on a night like this, how they can drink.

  Questions and more questions zip through my brain, but when I open my mouth to speak, I’m not sure I know how to form words anymore.

  “How?” is the only word I get out, and I instantly realize how stupid it sounds. I shake my head. “How far?”

  Kana’s eyes are nervous, and she fidgets with a napkin as she quietly says, “Five months. I only started showing a few days ago.”

  The waiter arrives and interrupts us, asking if we want a drink. Holland quickly takes over, ordering club sodas all around.

  When he leaves, Kana thanks her for ordering.

  Holland is practically bouncing in the seat. I snap my gaze to her, and a dark thought crosses my mind. Did she know about this? Did she hide this from me? But just as quickly as the thought appears, it’s gone.

  Holland is the dictionary definition of honest. She wouldn’t do that. She’s simply excited, and she stretches her hand across the table to squeeze Kana’s. “I’m so happy for you.”

  Like that, I know how I’m supposed to feel. What felt strange and surreal crystallizes. Because I see it in the curve of Kana’s lips, and the way she whispers thank you, and in the tears that slip down her cheeks. “I didn’t say anything when you first came to town because I wanted to be certain. Some people wait until the end of the first trimester, but I wanted to wait for the twenty-week ultrasound—to know the baby is healthy. I had it a couple days ago, and . . .” She stops to wipe a tear, a happy one, when she says, “The baby�
��s perfect.”

  Holland covers her mouth with her hand. Her voice is full of potholes when she says, “That’s the best news. Well, the baby is the best news. I’m so happy for you.”

  A smile stretches across my face. “So am I, Kana. I’m thrilled,” and I mean it.

  That’s what’s so odd. If I take my pulse and my temperature, I’d have to ask if I’m sick. Because the me of a month or two ago wouldn’t have responded like this.

  I don’t know how I’d have taken this—maybe caustically, maybe sarcastically.

  Or perhaps, selfishly.

  But it’s not about me. Not at all.

  It’s still a shock, though, and maybe because this news is so unexpected, I need to ask the next question. “Did Ian know?”

  Kana nods sadly. “Yes. He knew. We were the only ones who knew. He didn’t want to say anything to anyone until I was far enough along, until we knew that everything was going to be okay.”

  Her voice breaks, because he’s not the one who gets to share this news.

  I look away briefly, blinking, then back at her. The woman who holds a piece of Ian inside her. It’s humbling and awesome. She’s growing a person, and that person is a part of my brother and a part of her.

  I drag a hand through my hair, questions still racing. “I didn’t realize he was able to. After the chemo treatments.”

  She laughs. “We thought that too. We were both surprised. But his last chemo was nearly a year before he passed, and that’s why it was entirely possible.”

  Holland clears her throat and pipes in, “For men, the chemo kills the sperm, but the body restarts making it again in time.”

  Kana nods. “Yes, that’s what my doctor said too, after I realized I was late. We think it happened on Ian’s last trip here in late February.”